


and in the end it starts again

by evenafterallthistime



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bonding, Comfort, F/M, Hope, Hopeful Ending, Male-Female Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-27
Updated: 2012-06-27
Packaged: 2017-11-08 16:18:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/445067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/evenafterallthistime/pseuds/evenafterallthistime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Her fingers are still enclosed in his and his body aches in so many places and he thinks he can stay like this forever and he remembers, remembers fully, in vivid detail the way they danced in what feels like so long ago, her pressed up against him, moving with him, her teeth flashing white in a surprised and joyful grin as he spun her around, lost in the moment, exuberant.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in the end it starts again

**Author's Note:**

> Addresses the dancing scene from movie canon.

Exhaustion does not spare him even in victory and Harry feels his eyes droop, his whole body wracked with pain and heavy as if made of lead.  
  
Ron and Hermione go one way, back to the Great Hall, and he goes another, up to Gryffindor tower, longing for the bed that he hopes will await him in the boys’ dormitories.  
  
It’s slow going, up one flight of stairs to the next, pushing one foot in front of the other deliberately, precariously, as if learning it for the first time, the revelations, so many of them, spinning around in his head— _Fred, Lupin and Tonks, gone, all for him and this war, and Snape, Snape too_ —spreading a slow burn in his heart.  
  
Through the portrait hole, the door already opened and abandoned by the Fat Lady, and he’s there.  
  
It’s an odd sight, looking around the Common Room for the first time in nearly a year, but it is no doubt familiar; he leans against a nearby armchair in sudden weakness, relief coursing through his veins at the fact that the destruction apparently did not reach here, his fingers gripping the soft, rose-colored material.  
  
Faces flash in his mind, overwhelming him— _his mother, green eyes soft and loving; his father, Sirius, and Remus, proud and peaceful; Voldemort, red eyes wide in shock, falling backward, realizing what has happened in that split second_ —and Harry’s eyes drift closed as he gives in to his fatigue, all of a sudden forgetting about beds—  
  
“Harry!”  
  
The call is loud, shattering the comforting silence, and Harry jumps, eyes snapping open, his heart in his throat at the sudden, absurd thought that pops into his head:  _something is wrong, Voldemort is back, somehow he’s come back once more and everyone down all those flights of stairs needs him again_ —  
  
Hermione stands before him, breathless, wisps of brown hair free from her long braid, face flushed.  
  
And she smiles. He feels the fear ebb away.  
  
“Harry, I wanted---" She stops suddenly, panting, shaking her head, hand held against what he assumes is the stitch in her side, and he can’t help but smile in return.  
  
“Did you run all the way up here?”  
  
Hermione nods, a sheepish look on her face, regaining her breath.  “I wanted to catch you before you went to sleep.”  
  
“Where’s Ron?” He looks toward the direction of the portrait hole.  
  
She follows his gaze, even though they both see there’s no one there.  
  
“I thought I’d give him some time alone with his family. I think he needs it.”  
  
Harry nods, sadness expanding in his chest for his friend’s grief, and looks back at her.  
  
A crack in one of the lens of his glasses, tiny but enough to catch his attention all of a sudden distracts him, and he looks almost cross-eyed at it. He wonders how he missed it in the first place.  
  
“Oh, here—" Hermione notices this, as she always does, and pulls her wand out of the pocket of her jeans.  
  
She points it directly at his glasses and says the word distinctly, with confidence. “ _Reparo_ .”  
  
The crack mends instantly, his vision crystal-clear.  
  
He sighs in approval. “Thanks, Hermione. Maybe someday I’ll learn how to do that myself.”  
  
He grins and so does she,  _I don’t mind doing it_  leaving her lips softly; she raises a hand and carefully adjusts the glasses, a bit straighter on the bridge of his nose, and the tender gesture stirs something in him as he lets her do it, as he looks at her, the gratitude rushing over him in waves—  
  
He grabs her hand gently and her eyes meet his, eyebrows creased slightly in concern, waiting.  
  
The words, so many of them, rise up his throat so quickly, all at once, nearly choking him— _I’d be dead without you Hermione and I don’t know what I would have done if I never met you and even when things were rough you stayed with me you never left even when you could have even when you should have and that will always mean the world to me and I owe you so much_ —but that’s where they stay, perched on the end of his tongue, unsaid, and for the life of him he just can’t let them out.  
  
But he might as well have said all of it because Hermione just stares at him, knowing, her chocolate eyes moist and crinkling in understanding, and the sunlight of the early morning pours through the paneled window to their left, surprisingly intact, illuminating her face and making the brown strands of her hair shine mahogany, a beautiful transformation—  
  
He pulls her to him, her tired body resting against his,  _You’re my best friend, Harry_ echoing in her sigh, her shoulders slumping. His face is buried in her hair, as thick as it always was the day he met her.  
  
“I thought…” Hermione shakes her head, as if pushing away an awful thought, the unfinished sentence,  _you were dead_ , hovering in the air above them.  
  
Her breath blows hot against his neck, voice quiet with suppressed tears. “You really scared me, Harry.”  
  
He feels a pang in his chest at this, regretful, the last thing he ever wanted to do was scare her, he thinks, but she nods against him, once again reading his mind, and he knows she understands.  
  
Her fingers are still enclosed in his and his body aches in so many places and he thinks he can stay like this forever and he remembers, remembers fully, in vivid detail the way they danced in what feels like so long ago, her pressed up against him, moving with him, her teeth flashing white in a surprised and joyful grin as he spun her around, lost in the moment, exuberant—  
  
He realizes he never asked her what she came up here to tell him but it doesn’t matter because he thinks he already knows, the warmth radiating from her body, their even breathing being the only sound in the still room, feeling the in tandem beat of their hearts.


End file.
